


Bringing It

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: Bucky thinks that, just for that, he’s going to run Sam ragged, and then fuck him blind.





	Bringing It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chase_acow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/gifts).



The first time it hits Bucky, he’s paused in his workout, a towel slung around his neck, and is standing at the window looking out at the training fields of the Avengers facility.

Wilson’s walking out to the helipad to meet the woman who’s just arrived – Maria Hill, back from the UN. Since the UN bombing and the revelation of the Sokovian officer’s attempt to unbalance the political landscape, Hill has become one of the key people involved in the redevelopment of the Accords.

“Something interesting?” Steve’s playing a raquetball game against the wall, challenging himself with the most outlandish shots he can serve and return.

“Wilson going out to greet Hill.”

Steve catches the ball and frowns. “She wasn’t due back until tomorrow.”

After every trip to Europe and the UN, Hill comes back to the Avengers facility to meet with the Avengers and lays down the latest proposal on the table for them to protest, suggest, and rewrite. It may not be the fastest way to develop a protocol for managing superheroes, but it’s better than decree by international fiat. And Hill's knowledge of world security and the Avengers program has been extremely useful.

It also helps somewhat that she brought Bucky in a day after the UN bombing, having found him and relocated him into a Paris penthouse owned and managed by Stark Industries the day before he allegedly bombed the UN.

As it turns out, a grainy segment of CCTV footage has no effective argument when it comes up against the former Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, the CEO of Stark Industries, _and_ the cinema-sharp graphics of the Stark Industries AI who was monitoring the penthouse the entire time that Bucky was there.

“Guess they finished deliberations a day early.”

Bucky hears Steve’s comment, but he’s not really paying attention.

Wilson and Hill are exchanging greetings, something light and easy and casual. He can’t hear the conversation, but he doesn’t need to – it’s all in their body language. Then Hill says something and Wilson grins.

It’s the full monty – not just the faint quirk, the wry smirk, or the swift flash of teeth – this is the full, all-stops-out grin.

And for some reason, Bucky’s heart squeezes, and his stomach clenches.

“What is it?” Steve comes up alongside him, and looks out the window, but it’s just two people talking, one of them smiling. His expression is puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky forces himself to relax. “Nothing.”

–

He generally gets along pretty well with Wilson. The guy is a straight-shooter, easy going, and has a finely-tuned sense of when to step up and when to back down. He listens some, talks some, and doesn’t hold his cards too close to his chest.

So when Wilson calls out to him on the way out of the meeting about Hill’s most recent tilt at the Accords, Bucky turns.

“Doing anything now?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A quick run. After all that back and forth, I need to clear my head some. Come along?”

Bucky assents, and within ten minutes they’re both in gear, heading out to one of the running trails that stretches out through the facility. It was a military depot during Vietnam – one of several that Howard bought out for cheap when the war folded – and still has a number of trails marked. They make for good stamina and strengthening whether they’re walked or run, engaging body and mind all at once in a challenge of hills and dips, uncertain ground, and scrubby brush.

And sometimes the previous runner has laid down a couple of surprises – a glitter bomb, a dump of leaves, a carefully set up mudslide that landed Bucky in the river sodden and swearing...

A flock of chickens that sweep out of nowhere, perhaps a dozen of them, wings and squawks and beaks and claws—

Bucky yelps at the flutter of fluff and feathers and veers sideways. It’s only one step, but Wilson, also startled, covers his head and takes a step to avoid crashing into Bucky. He steps too close to the soft edge of the path which runs along a fairly steep embankment.

It’s not much of a drop – a couple of yards at most – but grabbing for him is instinctive. Bucky’s fingers close hard about Wilson’s wrist, and he yanks hard to counter the pull of gravity and the weight of Wilson’s body.

They overcorrect of course.

Wilson stumbles into him, with nowhere to go but forward into Bucky. Bucky has no place to go but backwards into the scrub beside the track. The easiest place for Wilson’s arms to go are around Bucky’s body, and the natural place for his head to tuck is into Bucky’s throat. And Bucky’s arms come under Wilson’s arms, gripping hard to try to act as shock absorber—

They sprawl in the long grass beside the trail, like lovers.

Bucky bashes his head against the ground, and has the sudden memory of snow and cold and metal and pain—

But there’s a body in his arms and it damn sure ain’t Steve—

“Nnnnghh...” Wilson grunts, sucking in a breath that Bucky feels all along his body. “Ow.”

_Ow_ is not what Bucky’s feeling right now. 

_Unf_ comes rather closer. 

There’s a host of reasons for this, not least of which is an ability to take crazy pain at levels which would leave most humans screaming. But very close behind it is that Bucky hasn’t had someone pressed this close against him in longer than he can remember. Chest to chest, balls to balls, breath against his throat, scent in his nostrils, panting – everything is sharper, clearer, more immediate. 

He remembers being used as the Winter Soldier. There’s no aphrodisiac like power over someone who could fight back under normal circumstances, but is psychologically constrained. They’re not nightmares – his nightmares are about what he did, not what was done to him – but they’re not anything he cares to remember either. And after getting out from HYDRA everything was about survival. Desire’s had very little place in Bucky’s life, the priority was shelter, safety, and food; besides, intimacy was impossible when someone might recognise you at any time. 

Now, lying underneath the lean length of Sam Wilson, Bucky aches for something he hasn’t had in longer than he can remember. 

His hand comes up of its own accord, cupping the sleek curve of Wilson’s nape— 

Wilson’s just pushing himself up. “Hey, are you okay—?” 

He sees Bucky’s face and realisation dawns. Bucky figures the erection swelling against Wilson’s leg might also give it away. 

Bucky knows he should probably apologise. Not every guy takes it well discovering that a friend prefers men. Steve didn’t care – but that was Steve, who understood the risks of being ‘fanciful’, and that was then. 

This is Sam Wilson in the now. 

This is Sam Wilson not moving away from Bucky’s obvious arousal, dark eyes narrow as his chest rises and falls. 

This is Sam Wilson growing hard against Bucky’s leg. 

Bucky swallows, his tongue thick with desire. He wants to grab Wilson by the shoulders yank him down, and kiss him senseless while rubbing against him, rough and needy. He wants to slide his hand up Wilson’s nape and draw him down to his mouth, biting hard enough to hurt before licking it softly better. He wants to flip them over so Wilson’s on his back on the cool leaf-litter, and Bucky can draw down the waistband of Wilson’s running shorts and take him in his mouth, slow and easy and lingering. 

“Libido can take a while to return,” Sam says, his tone matter-of-fact but also gentle. “I found that, after my partner died.”

The gentleness stings - can Wilson have any idea of how bright and brutal this is for Bucky? But it also undoes him – no shame, no rejection. 

“I haven’t— It’s been a long time.”

Sam shifts off Bucky, pushing himself up to his knees. His hand hovers over the tented fabric at the front of Bucky’s tracksuit pants. “May I?” 

“Here?”

“Well, unless you think Steve’s likely to come jogging this way and mind having an audience?”

Sam arches a brow, and when Bucky doesn’t respond, just reaches out, closing his hand lightly around fabric and flesh. 

How long has it been since someone touched Bucky like this? Not forcing him to do anything, just touching him and waiting for the cue to continue. He barely breathes as he twitches his hips ever so slightly. Like spark to gas, desire rushes through him, an adrenaline spike that clutches at him, open and reckless and hungry. 

Sam’s lips are curved in a smile, which means the moan Bucky heard came from himself. 

Smug bastard. 

“If you’re going to do something with that, then don’t be all day about it...”

Sam blinks. Bucky’s a little surprised at the words himself, even as he wants to cringe at it. Did that demand really come from him? Before he can reconsider, though, Sam’s pumped him in his hand, hard and fierce and oh, so good. 

“Too hard?” The glitter in Sam’s eyes is a challenge. “Or not hard enough?”

“Just right,” he manages and closes his eyes, the better to _feel._ “Don’t stop.”

“Magic word?”

“ _Fucking_ don’t stop!”

Sam growls. The next moment Bucky jerks as Wilson gets his hand inside his tracksuit bottoms and on bare skin, and rubs the tip of Bucky’s erection in a rough rush of callouses across sensitive glans. 

Bucky nearly screams from the pleasure of it. Every nerve is on fire, a cacophony of sensation that forms a perfect storm, and has him jerking his hips up, wanting more, harder, faster— 

“I wanna make you beg,” Wilson says, a little roughly, dragging his palm back across the tip. “But I figure that’s not a good idea after what you’ve been through...”

“I’d beg for you.” The thought and the words are almost simultaneous. And the shock on Sam’s face is gratifying. Bucky sucks in a heavy breath. “I’d do anything you want.”

Sam’s laugh is short and not entirely amused. “That’s kinda what I’m afraid of.” He gentles his stroke, leaning in to change the angle of his touch so he can rub from tip to base, unimpeded. “We’ll stick with vanilla this time around, though?” 

Bucky doesn’t care. He can barely think through the fire that’s burning along his veins. The elusive promise of pleasure is becoming very real, very urgent. He looks from the dark hand gripping him to the intent smile watching his revelation, and sets his hands and his heels against the ground. It takes him a few thrusts to find the counterrhythm against Sam’s hand that works for him, but when he does— 

Orgasm is a relief – and more – a pleasure. 

It’s not just the release, the sudden gummy stickiness of Sam’s hands, the slick glide of his own semen smeared across his dick; it’s Sam’s grin, the sudden curl of _want_ that tightens in his belly, the urge to lean forward, reach up, and set his mouth to that smile as though he could capture it for himself. 

Bucky’s not sure he’s ready to do that. Not yet. 

So he clenches his hands in the soft soil, and digs his heels in the leaf litter, and collects himself and his composure on the trail out back of the facility, where Sam Wilson has just given him the first consensual orgasm he’s had in some seventy years. 

By the time he’s gotten himself together, and can move without shaking like a leaf, Sam’s wiped his hands unapologetically on Bucky’s tracksuit bottoms, tucked Bucky away, and is just climbing to his feet. 

“Wait.” Bucky reaches out, snags one wrist, grips it. “What about you? You didn’t—”

Sam’s shorts are still showing a distinct bulge, but he only shrugs. 

“It can wait.”

“You don’t want me to—?”

The wrist in his fingers turns, his hand clasping Bucky’s wrist and tugging on it to pull him upright so they’re nearly chest to chest. “Oh, I want you to,” Sam says, looking him square in the eye. “But not here.” 

“Back at the facility?”

“Back at the facility. And later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you need me to pinky swear?” Sam shakes his head. “Come on. Unless I wore you out just then.”

Bucky glares. “I’ll show you worn out.” 

“You do that.” Sam smirks. “Bring it on.”

As they start running again, Bucky thinks that, just for that, he’s going to run Sam ragged, and then fuck him blind. 

Later. 


End file.
